


Apricity

by night_scare



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_scare/pseuds/night_scare
Summary: Fabala was silent for a moment. “So… what’s my nickname?” she questioned realizing she’d yet to hear him call her anything other than Herald.“Trouble,” he answered.She leaned back in her seat with an eyebrow quirked clearly not amused by his answer. “Trouble?” she spat out incredulously. “Seriously?”He laughed at her reaction before taking a sip out of his tankard. “I think it’s fitting,” he said after swallowing a gulp of ale. “Every single time I see you coming towards me all I can think is ‘here comes trouble’.”





	1. The Prisoner

_The Prisoner_

 

There was a groan as eyelids painfully peeled open, the blurry surroundings clarifying as she blinked once, twice… the cold, dank floor of what could only be a prison cell was the clear picture she was met with. 

She was vaguely aware of the four men standing guard around her as she attempted to roll her aching shoulders only to have her entire body creak in protest. She moved her legs which were growing numb underneath her to find a more comfortable position other than kneeling on the floor hunched over, but the shackles around her wrists kept her closely bound to the ground making any movement difficult.

And then, suddenly a pain shot up her left arm as though her entire arm was on fire and she let out a low hiss as she glared down at the offending appendage noticing the unfamiliar green glow that enveloped her left hand, feeling the sharp pangs of foreign magic invading her body.

_Magic from the Fade._

A sneer worked its way onto her face as the mark crackled and she tightened her hand into a fist as if to force the magic (and pain) away, but when she uncurled her fingers the mark flared as if mocking her. A curse was murmured under her breath and when the door opened behind her any movement stopped, her body tensing, and her breath hitching in her throat.

A tall woman donning the symbol of the Seekers strode into the room with another hooded woman trailing behind. The Seeker leaned down in front of her with narrowed dark eyes. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she muttered lowly before straightening her form. “The Conclave was destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead… _except for you_.”

The accusation was hard to miss and the prisoner pursed her lips biting back whatever insult tingled on the tip of her tongue instead settling to glare up at the Seeker and ground out: “I did nothing.”

The woman took hold of the still glowing hand. “Explain this,” ordered the Seeker.

With a huff the prisoner yanked her hand away and followed the Seeker’s frame as she paced in front of her only having her eyes drawn away for a second as they scanned the hooded woman who remained quiet during the questioning. There was a spark of familiarity in the redhead’s pale blue eyes when they met a cold amber.

The prisoner’s attention turned back to the Seeker. “I can’t,” she murmured out the response as though she was disgusted or ashamed she did not have an explanation.

“What do you mean you _can’t_?” There was disbelief in the woman’s voice.

“I _can’t_ ,” the prisoner reiterated growing annoyed with the woman’s attempts to intimidate her. “Would you like me to forego the contraction? I _cannot_ tell you what that is —“

A tick in the woman’s eyebrow was the first indication of her rage as she went to lunge for the prisoner. “You’re lying!” Before she had the chance to touch the prisoner the hooded woman stepped in placing a hand on the Seeker’s chest to guide her back.

“We need her, Cassandra,” the redhead said simply.

The prisoner’s mouth fell open slightly at the mention of the Seeker’s name as though she was having an ‘ah-ha!’ moment. Eyes flickering between the two women she realized who they were:

Cassandra Pentaghast and the Nightingale Leliana. The Right and Left Hands of Divine Justinia. 

“So…” she started. “ _Everyone_ is dead?”

Leliana stepped in taking over the interrogation. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?” Her tone was far less accusatory than Cassandra’s and to her benefit the prisoner’s mouth opened as if to say something before closing with eyebrows drawn together in what seemed to be confusion. 

Leliana was patient while Cassandra paced around the cell waiting for the woman to gather her thoughts. “Spiders…” muttered the prisoner remembering the horde that had been chasing her. “… and a woman.”

“A woman?” Leliana echoed.

“I was climbing and the spiders were close. She reached out to me…” Then her memory failed her. Nothing but a bright light and then this cell. 

Cassandra turned to Leliana, “Go to the Forward Camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift,” Leliana regarded the Seeker with a nod before taking her leave while Cassandra hurried to undo the shackles. 

“Rift?” the prisoner questioned.

Cassandra looked at the lithe woman who she hauled up as though she weighed nothing. “It will be easier to show you.” In place of the handcuffs Cassandra tied rope around the prisoner’s already sore wrists before guiding her outside of the cell. 

A low whistle escaped the yellow-eyed woman’s lips as she stared up at the large hole in the sky which glowed a sickly green suspiciously the same shade as the mark on her hand. “Yes,” she spoke. “That does seem to be a bit of a problem.”

The Seeker regarded her sarcasm with nothing more than a noise of disgust. “We call it ‘the Breach’. It’s a massive rift into —“

“— the Fade.”

Cassandra turned to her. “Yes… it’s not the only rift, but it is the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“Must’ve been quite the explosion to tear a hole between two dimensions.” This time her sarcasm did nothing to hide the awe that was in her voice.

“Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world,” Cassandra stated solemnly and no sooner did she finish her sentence did the Breach crackle as though it were made of lightning and the mark on the prisoner’s hand responded to it. With a grunt she bit back a painful cry as she sunk to her knees gnashing her teeth together.

“Each time the Breach expands your mark spreads… and it _is_ killing you,” Cassandra informed her as she knelt down in front of the woman. “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

She gritted her teeth as she struggled to her feet. “Don’t suppose I have much of a choice, yeah? Save the world, save myself, answer is clear.”

“Then…”

“Let’s go save the world or something.”

 

* * *

 

Her heart flew into her throat as she felt the bridge give out from under her, her body bashing against broken stone and mortar before landing in a clump at the frozen ravine below. The Breach spit out bursts of green and she barely managed to get to her feet as a demon emerged in front of her and the Seeker who ordered her to stay back.

There was no hesitation on her part when she saw a staff lying haphazardly to her left. Another demon manifested not even three feet from her and she wasted no time engaging in battle with it, hurling fireballs at it with expertise until it was nothing but a pile of ash.

Cassandra, once done with her foe, brandished her sword at her prisoner. “Drop your weapon, now.”

Her grip on the staff tightened as she spat, “I’m sorry, would you like to face a horde of demons on your own, then?” Derision dripped heavily on her voice as she gave the Seeker a hard stare which Cassandra returned with the narrowing of her eyes, her brow tensing a moment before she gave a reluctant sigh.

“You are right. You should have it. I cannot protect you.”

A roll of the eyes and a cheeky grin was thrown her way as the prisoner sauntered over to her. “Trust me Seeker, I don’t need protection.” Cassandra resisted the urge to let out a noise of disgust as she watched the prisoner walk past her.

 

* * *

 

The prisoner figured they were close to one of these rifts when she heard the distinct sound of battle ahead of them. She and Cassandra hurried to join in on the fight where soldiers (along with an elven apostate and smarmy looking dwarf) were battling against demons that were escaping from the green tear in reality.

With the additional help of the Seeker and her mage prisoner, the battle drew to a close when the bald elf shoved the prisoner’s hand into the rift. Her entire arm felt as though it had been set on fire and there was a tugging at the center of her palm that reached out into the rift for _something._ She grasped her hand and pulled back on the invisible string into the rift and with a _snap_ the rift was closed and she was left standing there with a puzzled look on her face.

The elf gave no introductions as he began to speak of his theory about the mark on her hand and she regarded him with a look of skepticism not trusting the elven apostate who knew so much about the tears in the sky.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” said the elf with a pleased smile but it faded when he noticed the frown on the prisoner’s face.

“Good to know,” said the dwarf as he adjusted his gloves. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” He walked to the prisoner as he introduced himself. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” With a wink that he threw at the Seeker, who snarled in response, he finished his introduction with a handshake.

“Nice crossbow,” the mage commented nodding to the finely crafted weapon that was strapped to his back.

Varric regarded his weapon with a loving gaze. “Isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

The prisoner’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “Ah…” she breathed. “One of _those_.”

Before Varric could question her meaning the elf cut in. “My name is Solas if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

Eyes squinted and lips curled. “Yeah, I’m pretty happy to be alive as well.”

Varric cut in before the prisoner could misinterpret what Solas was trying to say. “He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

“Seems you know more about what’s going on than anyone else,” stated the prisoner who eyed the elf with suspicion.

“Like you Solas is an apostate,” Cassandra informed.

“Technically all mages are apostates now, Cassandra,” corrected Solas. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade beyond the experience of any circle mage —“

The prisoner cut him off, “And why are you under the impression that I am from the Circle?”

Solas looked surprised, “You were at the Conclave…”

“Assuming is not a good habit. I suggest breaking it,” Solas’ brows furrowed for a moment before relenting.h

“So it seems." 

The group began on their trek to the Forward camp to meet with Leliana, silence enveloping the group for a brief period as they trudged down the snow covered stairs to the valley.

“Why would an apostate be at the Conclave?” Varric was the one to ask breaking the quiet though it had been on the tip of Cassandra’s tongue as well.

The prisoner glanced over at them and heaved a sigh. “It was a favor,” she relented. “I was to be some sort of… _advisor_ for the rebel mages to show that it isn’t as difficult as most think to resist the temptations of demons and that the Circles are unnecessary.” 

“You truly believe that?” Cassandra asked curious about the prisoner’s opinion. 

She was silent for a moment. “I’ve never known the confines of the Circle,” she finally said. “I was taught to respect the magic that had blessed my veins and that a thirst for knowledge wasn’t to be feared. I grew feeling joy when my magic surfaced not fear of being locked away because of something _I could not help_.”

“That is…” Cassandra began. “That is a unique way to put it,” she finally said. “I have not thought of it that way before.”

The prisoner was quiet for the rest of their journey to the Forward camp though it didn’t go unnoticed by Varric that the elven apostate’s eyes held a certain gleam whenever they glanced over the wild-haired woman.

  
_Pride._


	2. Long Haul

_Long Haul_

 

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was reduced to just that … ashes. Charred bodies were strewn throughout what remained of the temple and the mage grimaced as she kicked some of the rubble away. “This place has really gone to shit, huh?” she commented.

Cassandra sent her a disapproving glare but she did not seem to notice it as she set out with a determined look in her eye as she scanned her surroundings. “What are you doing?” Cassandra demanded. 

The prisoner did not answer as she bent over and began to dig through the debris not caring that her finger tips ached or nails broke as she tossed aside a large piece of mortar mumbling to herself as she did. “Ah…” A pleased sound escaped her lips as she heaved along staff out from the wreckage.

“Is that…?” Varric trailed off as his eyes found the large gem-like object that was situated in the crook of the curving staff. 

“A dragon’s eye. “Cassandra confirmed. 

The rounded object was the same piercing color as the prisoner’s own eyes with the tell-tale slits of a dragon’s pupil. There was a satisfied grin on the female mage’s face as she knocked off the dust from her staff using the sleeve on her mercenary clothes to wipe the ash from the gem. 

Without another thought she took the fire staff off of her back and tossed it to the side without another thought replacing it with the one she found in the rubble suddenly feeling as though she was just a bit more whole than before.

 

* * *

 

The Breach was even more formidable up close.

The prisoner turned to her three companions with a grimace. “In case I die trying to close this thing, my name is Fabala,” she said just before looking away almost sheepishly. “I just, uh ⎯ I just want someone to remember me in case I don’t make it.”

That small statement seemed to spark compassion in Cassandra whose harsh gaze softened for the first time in the hours that Fabala had known her and the Seeker laid a hand on her shoulder. “You will not be forgotten,” she vowed.

“I don’t think I could forget anyone whose hand glowed _green_ ,” Varric quipped trying to lighten the somber mood that had taken over.  

Fabala sent him a weak smile. “All right, how do we do this?”

 

* * *

 

When she woke she was greeted with the comfort of a bed and the warmth of a fire. Blinking once and then twice she realized she didn’t recognize her surroundings and jolted upright in the bed frantically looking around the small room. She heard the door open and in walked a timid elf carrying a box and when she saw that the mage was sitting up in the bed she startled dropping the box.

“You're awake!” the elf exclaimed and then fell to her knees. “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant!” 

“Oh, enough of that. Get up, get up,” Fabala urged causing the elf to scramble to her feet. “Where am I?” she asked.

“You’re back at Haven, Herald. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days,” the elf informed fidgeting under Fabala’s intense gaze. 

“I guess everyone is pleased to no longer be in imminent danger then,” Fabala said.

“Oh yes, my lady. Ever so pleased. I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said ‘at once’!”

“And where is she?” Fabala questioned.

“In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!” She picked up the crate that she had dropped on the floor and shoved it into Fabala’s arms before rushing out of the cabin as quickly as possible.

Fabala examined the new set of clothes the elf had given her and gave a shrug before something dawned on her.

“Herald?!”

Turmoil was building up in her as she pulled on the clothes that were left for her getting ready to head to the Chantry ‘at once’, as Cassandra had demanded. However, her hand hesitated on the doorknob when she heard the commotion going on outside of the cabin she was in. She took a peek out of one of the windows, eyebrows raising in surprise at the size of the crowd gathered outside, all murmuring to each other about the so-called ‘Herald’. 

With a firm nod, she made a decision, backing away from the door and going towards the back of the cabin where she promptly shimmied out one of the windows and began to creep alongside the back of the adjacent cabin, pulling up the hood attached to her new set of armor before making her way up the stairs towards the Chantry.

The Chantry at Haven was old and dimly lit by candles setting an eerie glow to the place that Fabala found she didn’t particularly like, though, not being of the Andrastian faith, most Chantries tended to give her the creeps. Once she entered though, it wasn’t hard to determine where Cassandra was as she heard the Seeker loudly arguing with the Chancellor from behind a closed door at the end of the hall. 

“Have you gone completely mad? She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.” Fabala snorted at the Chancellor’s statement. 

“I do not believe she is guilty,” Cassandra admitted and a surge of warmth spread through Fabala at the Seeker’s words.

“The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way,” Chancellor Roderick retorted. 

“I do not believe that,” Cassandra said sternly.

The Chancellor scoffed. “That is not for you to decide. Your duty here is to serve the Chantry.”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours,” she reminded him.

Hearing enough, Fabala swung the door open and sauntered into the room, not the least bit surprised when the Chancellor ordered the two guards standing at the door to be put in chains which Cassandra quickly overrided, telling the guards to leave.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” hissed the Chancellor.

Cassandra gave a slight roll of her eyes. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” she stated in a tone that evoked finality.

“Well, at least that thing didn’t kill me,” Fabala said and gave a glance down towards her hand. “… and this is stable too, for now, at least.”

“It’s a shame it didn’t kill you,” the Chancellor muttered under his breath.

Leliana, who Fabala had not realized was there, piped up. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others — or have allies who yet live.”

The implication of her statement was clear as day. “I am a suspect?” The Chancellor asked shocked by the gall of Leliana to so openly accuse him of the crime.

“You, and many others,” Leliana confirmed.

“But not the prisoner,” he lamented.

“I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called to her for help,” Cassandra stated.

_‘Someone help me!’_

Fabala shook her head at the memory. A memory that she didn’t even have, yet so clearly happened. Strange to know of something, but not to have any recollection whatsoever of the events that took place.

Still…

_‘Someone help me!’_

“So her survival, that thing on her hand — all a coincidence?” The Chancellor questioned as though he thought he had Cassandra cornered.

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour,” Cassandra so simply explained.

The statement jolted Fabala who stepped up hands in the air. “Whoa, whoa… I am not some kind of ‘Chosen One’, least of all one sent by your Maker.” While some may feel some sense of pride or validity at being dubbed the ‘Herald of Andraste’ sent by the Maker himself, Fabala bristled at the thought.

There was nothing more to her standing here right now with the mark on her hand than pure circumstance, a stroke of luck (or rather misfortune), if anyone else had been in her place at the Temple they’d be standing here right now instead and she would be nothing but a pile of charred remains.

“You were exactly what we needed when we needed it,” Cassandra argued not pleased with the implication that Fabala was not Andrastian like herself.

“The Breach remains and your mark is our only hope of closing it,” Leliana said.

“This is not for you to decide,” The Chancellor interjected.

Cassandra slammed a thick book down on the table, an emblem of a flaming eye with a sword going through it on the cover. “Do you know what this is, Chancellor?” She left no room for an answer. “A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She turned to him and backed him up against the wall, poking him in the chest as she continued. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”

That was enough to get the Chancellor to retreat with his tail between his legs.

“This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support,” Leliana said.

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra stated and turned to Fabala. “We must act now. With you at our side.”

A heavy sigh escaped Fabala and she gave a shrug of her shoulders. “I guess I’m in it for the long haul.”


	3. Harpoon

_Harpoon_

 

Fabala had been to the Hinterlands once before, of course, it hadn’t been war torn and on fire at the time. Strange how death and destruction completely made a place unrecognizable. She spent nearly two weeks there ridding the area of Templars and Rifts. By the time she returned to Haven, she was more tired than she’d ever been before and covered in numerous scrapes and bruises. There was nothing she wanted more than to lug herself back to her cabin and sleep for the next three to five days. 

“Excuse me,” called a young man who stood just outside the Chantry and Fabala was inclined to stop due to his politeness despite her desire for sleep. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.

Fabala looked the soldier up and own, not caring that the young man’s face was turning a curious shade of red at the woman’s blatant stare. “And just who are you?” she questioned.

“Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra. We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast,” he explained. “My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If whoever’s in charge would like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, they can meet us there and watch us work.”

Fabala crossed her arms, her weight falling to one leg as she assumed a thoughtful pose. “Iron Bull, you said?” she asked and he gave a firm nod. “I’ll see you at the Storm Coast, then.”

The man almost managed to not look surprised as he realized who she was. “You’re the Herald?” he asked.

A scowl took over her pretty face and he knew he had said the wrong thing. “Fabala would be just fine,” she insisted and in an ironic turn of events he could hear someone calling out for her.

Her frown deepened as she turned to the Ambassador of the Inquisition, “Herald, we’re about to start our meeting,” Josephine informed her and he saw her deflate at the mention of a meeting.

“I’m coming,” Fabala said before turning back to the mercenary. “I’ll be at the Storm Coast in a week’s time,” she said. “It was nice meeting you, Cremisius,” she held her hand out for him to shake which he did with a bit of awkwardness. He watched as she walked back into the Chantry and he couldn’t help but feel that the chief was going to have a field day with the Herald.

 

* * *

 

The Storm Coast was a miserable place and Scout Harding had agreed with Fabala when she said: “The sea should just swallow this shithole already.”

Fabala’s mass of curls was weighed down with the weight of the water that was plummeting down in a constant torrent and she couldn’t help but feel that Solas had a particularly smug look on his face which was dry due to the dumb elven cowl that he wore.

“It is not so stupid now, is it?” he asked when she paused the group to wrestle her hair into a band.

“Still stupid,” she grumbled as she slicked back the few pieces of hair that weren’t long enough to be pulled into a ponytail.

The closer they got to the coast the more clear the sounds of fighting became and from the top of the embankment Fabala could see the large and imposing figure of who could only be the Iron Bull hacking away at the Tevinter mercenaries.

“Let’s go,” Fabala ordered and Cassandra let out a noise of disgust at the giddiness in the Herald’s voice and then shouted at her when Fabala slid down the rocky slope to the beach below.

“Why must you do that all the time!” Cassandra yelled.

“Live a little, Seeker,” Varric said as he followed Fabala who was already throwing lightning and Solas (who had made his way down at a significantly less steep side of the hill) was freezing the Tevinter soldiers so the Chargers could knock them to pieces.

Fabala was grinning as she hurled lightning at one of the archers and it was only out of the corner of her eye that she noticed one of the Vints sneaking up on the Iron Bull brandishing his weapon.

“Duck!” she called out and barely gave him the time to react as she chucked her staff at the Vint, blade end first getting the soldier right in the throat.

Cassandra was already starting to reprimand her for leaving herself weaponless as two soldiers started to advance towards the mage thinking her completely defenseless without her staff. With a slam of her foot, the rocky shore shook beneath and two giant fists made of rock erupted from the earth knocking the two Vints to the ground.

They didn’t have the chance to get up before two of Varric’s bolts acquainted themselves with their faces. The Chargers had taken care of the last of the Vints as Fabala retrieved her staff from the throat of her victim.

“Herald, I would appreciate it if you would please keep hold of your staff whilst in the midst of a fight,” Cassandra said exasperatedly as if this was a common occurrence (it was).

Fabala gave the Seeker a sheepish shrug as she cleaned the blood off the blade at the end of her staff on her pants before turning to greet the Iron Bull who approached her with a grin on his face.

“You harpooned that Vint like he was a whale,” his deep voice boomed. “That was awesome… right through my horns, too!” The massive man then looked over to Cremisius who gave the Herald a polite nod. “Krem, how’d we do?”

“Five or six wounded, chief. None dead,” he informed his captain.

There was a pleased look on Iron Bull’s face, “That’s what I like to hear. Let the throat cutters finish up, then break out the casks.” His attention turned back to Fabala. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming,” he said.

Cassandra let out a noise of disbelief when Fabala followed after the mercenary. “Herald, really?” she questioned.

“One drink, Cass!” Fabala promised with a sly grin.

Solas appeared at the Seeker’s side. “At this point it is time to realize that the Herald is not one to be controlled,” he said. Cassandra let out another noise of disgust before going off to clean her sword and shield.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant,” Bull said to Fabala as his second-in-command approached them.

“Good to see you again,” Krem said politely. “Throatcutters are done, Chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again, I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem,” Bull ordered with a small chuckle.

His lieutenant didn’t seem phased. “None taken,” Krem said. “Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Fabala sent an amused look to Krem as he walked away. “So… you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… I’m pretty sure the Inquisition can afford us,” Bull said getting straight down to business.

“You’d have to talk to my Ambassador about that,” Fabala stated. “I’m rubbish when it comes to finances.”

Bull laughed. “There is one thing you should know, though,” Bull informed his expression turning serious. “Have you ever heard of the Ben Hassrath?”

Fabala’s expression mirrored his own because she had indeed heard of the Ben Hassrath and she wasn’t quite sure where this conversation was leading, but she didn’t like it. “You mean the Qunari spies?” she questioned trying to bite back on the malice that she knew laced her tone.

“Yeah, that’s them,” Bull confirmed. “Well, us. The Ben Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that can cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports back, but I also get reports from Ben Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with you.”

“And you would freely tell me this information, why?” she demanded already bristling despite her attempts to remain calm.

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing is bad and someone needs to get that Breach closed, so whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

Fabala stared up at the massive Qunari, searching for any sign that he might be lying or waiting for her to turn her back so he could sink his knife into it. She had to admit, he must be a damn good spy because he gave no tells.

“Welcome aboard.”


	4. Trouble

_Trouble_

 

There was something Fabala noticed about Varric and it wasn’t his weird crossbow fetish or his fabulous chest hair.

“So, what’s with your aversion to calling people by their proper names?” she asked him one day while they were in the tavern mulling over some maps of the Hinterlands. She found it peculiar the way he never called anyone by their proper names. He’d taken to calling the elven rogue they’d just picked up in Orlais by ‘Buttercup’, Iron Bull was ironically ‘Tiny’, and he even got away with calling Cullen ‘Curly’.

“I like nicknames,” he admitted as though it was just as simple as that. Fabala gave him a look clearly not buying it. “It’s like a challenge,” he elaborated. “Coming up with a nickname for someone that completely encapsulates them as a person.”

Fabala was silent for a moment. “So… what’s my nickname?” she questioned realizing she’d yet to hear him call her anything other than Herald.

“Trouble,” he answered.

She leaned back in her seat with an eyebrow quirked clearly not amused by his answer. “Trouble?” she spat out incredulously. “Seriously?”

He laughed at her reaction before taking a sip out of his tankard. “I think it’s fitting,” he said after swallowing a gulp of ale. “Every single time I see you coming towards me all I can think is ‘here comes trouble’.”

Fabala’s face soured. “That’s offensive,” she told him. “I’m offended.”

He set down his ale and looked her straight in the eyes. “You’re only offended because it’s true.”

“I am _not_ trouble,” she insisted. “Besides, you do realize ‘Fabala’ is already a nickname, right?”

This seemed to surprise him. “Wait, really?” he asked. “What’s your real name?”

She scoffed. “If I wanted people to know my actual name I’d introduce myself as such.”

“I bet you I could pull some strings and figure it out,” he bartered with a sly grin on his face knowing that the woman opposite of him wouldn’t back down on any sort of wager.

She leaned forward intrigued by the proposition. “And what are your terms?”

“A thousand Sovereigns says I’ll have it figured out by the end of Harvestmere,” he determined.

A smirk formed on her face, a cocky one at that and for a moment Varric thought maybe this was a bet he wouldn’t win, but his own smugness pushed the thought from his head. Their hands met in the middle of the table to set the wager. “The end of Harvestmere, then,” Fabala reiterated. “Better start saving your coin now.”

With that cheeky statement she gathered the maps from the table and made her way out of the tavern while Varric pulled out an extra piece of parchment and began to write a letter to an acquaintance in Antiva, the last place Fabala was known to have resided. He’d be damned if he didn’t win this bet.


	5. Bull

_Bull_

 

Her companions thought she was peculiar although they’d never admit it out loud. She had an odd way about her. From the very moment Iron Bull had seen her across the battlefield in the Storm Coast, he’d been watching her, analyzing her as he’d been trained to do.

In the weeks that followed his recruitment into the Inquisition, he’d been a permanent fixture at her side making it fairly easy for him to assess her. He’s always been wary of mages and she was no different especially with the brashness in which she wielded her magic. She was unafraid and she was _powerful_. Unlike any mage he’d ever seen before.

There was a starch difference in the way her and Solas utilized their magic abilities. Solas, despite his otherwise cold demeanor, was soft when it came to casting. He didn’t hurl spells with as much aggression as Fabala who twirled her staff with such ferocity Iron Bull wasn’t quite sure whether or not she was trying to lop off the enemies’ head in the process.

Even he had to admit though, for all his aversion to mages, she was otherworldly in the midst of battle; all bared teeth with her wild mane of hair whipping back and forth. She looked positively feral.

Outside of the battlefield though there was a completely different side of the Herald. The refugees in the Hinterlands saw a softer side to Fabala. She was all sweet words and gentle touches. She’d spent the extra couple of days gathering supplies for the refugees despite the insistence from Haven that she return and leave it to the Inquisition soldiers to see to the refugees’ wellbeing.

And then there were the nights her and her companions spent around the fire. She’d murmur to them about her travels around Thedas which she spoke of fondly. She was well versed in the world and she spoke with longing knowing the chain of the Inquisition was tightly wrapped around her.

After they met with a mage from Tevinter named Dorian Pavus, he’d watched Fabala stare down Commander Cullen from across the war room table, nothing but fury in her eyes at his insistence that they abandon the rebel mages and instead seek help from the Templars who would sooner shackle her than work beside her.

That conversation hadn’t ended well for Cullen.

He found her infinitely fascinating and it seemed as though she was just as fascinated with him as he often found her sauntering up to him where he stood just outside the gate to Haven mouth already poised to ask a question whether it be about his upbringing or the Chargers.

He couldn’t help the grin whenever he saw her approaching.

However, when he saw her coming towards him this time with the Tevinter mage in tow, a scowl on her face, he couldn’t help but frown as a foreboding feeling took over. Bull would not consider himself a superstitious person, but whatever it was waiting for them at Redcliffe left a sour feeling in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Cassandra and Bull were left to wonder what exactly had happened as Fabala and Dorian leaned in close together speaking in low voices, each looking as though they had been to hell and back which couldn’t be more the truth.

When they returned to Haven, Fabala locked herself in her cabin, warning off anyone who tried to disturb her. After a full day of hauling herself in the cabin and after numerous people tried to persuade her to come out to no avail, the Iron Bull decided to give it a try, showing up outside her cabin with a bottle of her favorite Antivan wine and a plate full of food.

His first knock went ignored, his second received a ‘go away’, after his fifth knock the door was wrenched open revealing a disgruntled Herald. She looked him up and down and before she could slam the door in his face he shoved a foot forward stopping it.

“Boss,” he greeted with a pleasant smile as though he wasn’t forcing his way into her cabin. “I brought some wine and food!”

She gave him a hard look as he sauntered in, but closed the door shut behind him and snatched the bottle from his hands, pulling the cork out with her teeth before taking a large gulp of the sweet liquid.

“So,” Bull started. “You’ve been acting pretty strange; been avoiding me and the Seeker and I’m guessing it has to do with what went on at Redcliffe.”

She stilled in her drinking, the bottle hanging limply in her hand. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as though she just could not form the right words.

“Boss,” his voice was unusually soft as he came to stand in front of her placing a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever it is, whatever happened, you need to talk about it.”

She looked up at him, really looked at him and a flash of his red lyrium riddled body being tossed aside like a rag doll filled her vision. Nauseas took over and in an attempt to drown the feeling she took another swig of wine. Bull brought his hand up, lowering the bottle from her lips.

“Fabala.”

“You died,” she stated barely above a whisper. “… for me.”

“I could think of worse things to die for,” Bull said plainly.

She shook off his hand, shaking her head. “No!” she yelled. “I don’t want anyone dying for me!” Her heart pounded against her ribcage. “You don’t know what it was like… watching Cassandra fall… watching you get thrown around by demons!”

He grimaced at that. “People die in war,” he told her. “We make sacrifices for the greater good and if we have to ensure that you live so the world doesn’t crumble, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

She stared up at him seeing no ounce of dishonesty in his face and her shoulders slumped. Bull placed a hand on her head ruffling her curls.


	6. Ends of the World

_Ends of the World_

 

Commander Cullen did everything within his power to never be alone in the same room as the Herald. It was not as though he hated the woman and thus far she had given him no definite reason for him to dislike her despite his initial uneasiness to her being a mage. She kept him at a distance maintaining a completely professional and somewhat terse relationship with him. That intimidated him. Even Cassandra, who was the epitome of piousness, was able to joke around with the former Templar, however, he didn’t think he’d even seen the Herald crack a smile once.

There was something about her eyes that unsettled him; a piercing yellow that seemed to look straight through him as though he could hide nothing from her. It appeared as though those eyes had the same effect on others as he’s witnessed many a person bend and break under the Lady Herald’s scrutinizing stare.

Her icy behavior towards him contrasted greatly with the accounts of her traveling companions who spoke of the Herald as someone who showed compassion that was unmatched and wit that charmed many wherever they journeyed.

Despite the coldness she treated him with, he respected her a great deal.

She carried a heavy weight on her shoulders and one would never know she made decisions daily that could cost entire scores of people their lives and she did so without even batting an eye. There was no response from her when Cullen himself had reprimanded her for allying with the mages nor when Leliana made a veiled threat towards her life.

And though he would not always agree with the decisions she made, he respected her for being able to make those choices when no one else was able to … _especially_ when no one else was able to.

So, when he found himself in the makeshift war room within the Chantry opposite of the Herald who was standing over the war map with a contemplative look across her face he was quick to try and excuse himself but she stopped him before he could make it out the door.

“Yes, Herald?” he asked with reluctance.

Her brows crinkled together and for the first time he saw just how tired she was. The circles under her eyes were beginning to darken to a sickly purple and her body itself looked wary from all of the traveling and fighting she had been doing the past couple of months. He understood how hard it must’ve been for her to never stay in one place for long. She was barely even in Haven for a week at a time as it was.

“Commander,” she started. “If … if for whatever reason I should not make it after we close the Breach…” Cullen felt his breath get caught in his throat at her implication and she went silent for a small moment that seemed like an eternity, her gaze still downturned, however, when she looked up, her eyes catching his, that’s when he saw the barest flicker of something he hadn’t seen before in her eyes: _fear_.

“You’re scared,” the words fell off his tongue before he could even think to bite it and as he was going to apologize she cut him off with a quiet admission.

“Yes.”

A thick silence wove itself between the pair as neither seemed to know how to progress the conversation any further, but Cullen’s eyes lingered on the woman across the room from him who seemed to shrink under his gaze clearly as uncomfortable with the conversation as he was and he knew something had to be said.

“You shouldn’t be,” he told her. “You are by far the strongest, most capable fighter I’ve ever seen. I have the utmost confidence in you as does everyone else here in Haven. If anyone can make it out of this mess alive, it’s you, of that I am certain.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he felt as though they shouldn’t have. As though he had crossed a line that they had both set between each other. But as he was contemplating his own brashness, the Herald had crossed the room and on her own impulse reached up, caressing his cheek with the palm of her hand.

That’s when he saw it; the faintest twitch of the corner of her mouth.

A smile.

She had _smiled_ at him.

“Thank you, Cullen.”

She left him with that simple sentence, a warm memory of her skin on his, and the realization that he would follow that woman to the ends of the world.


	7. Cold

_Cold_

 

Fabala was tired.

Months of running around trying to get all of the pieces in place to close the Breach and it was finally over. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to celebrate with the rest of Haven. The mug of ale that she had been handed was untouched though she had smiled gratefully at the doe-eyed soldier, Jim, who had given it to her.

There was this sense deep within her that something was not right, that their fight was not yet over. It bothered her that she could not remember how she got the mark on her hand, that they had not yet figured out who or what this ‘Elder One’ was and why he had ripped a hole in the sky to the Fade.

“Something on your mind, Boss?” Bull’s booming voice asked from behind her.

Her grip on the mug in her hands tightened and she thought for a moment if she should share her doubts with her self-proclaimed bodyguard. “You ever just get the feeling that there’s something more… like this was just the beginning?”

Bull stared down at her noting the exhaustion in her eyes. “Boss, you did good today. For now, just rest.”

She smiled up at him but that quickly faded as the alarm bells rang echoing through Haven and dread filled her washing over her like a tsunami.

 

* * *

 

The archdemon had not been expected. It had sent them all for a loop and the only thing they could do was retreat to the Chantry lest any more lives be lost to the blighted creature. Fabala’s stomach rolled as she thought of Adan’s pleads for help just moments before the casks trapping him exploded and then she thought of Flissa who she had not failed to save and of Minaeve and all the others who were still alive and her resolve hardened.

“Bull, Cassandra, and Solas with me,” she ordered. “I want you two bashing your way through their front lines and Solas keep a barrier on them at all times while I adjust the trebuchet. Once that thing is aimed I want you three gone."

“Herald,” Cassandra started but Fabala held a hand up effectively silencing her. The Seeker stared at the mage who she now found herself calling a friend and there was a look she had never seen in the woman’s amber eyes; an unbridled rage.

At that moment it was established that there wasn’t any room for argument and none of her companions tried to object to her plan. When the time came for them to make it back to the Chantry she had assured that she was right behind them and when they turned she was nowhere to be found.

From the tree line, they and the rest of the survivors watched as the trebuchet was launched thus burying Haven and the Herald in snow.

“She’ll be all right, yeah?” Sera asked from Bull’s side. Fear and anxiety strewn over her face. “She’s gotta be all right.”

Varric laid a hand on the female elf’s arm. “C’mon, Buttercup, we gotta get moving,” he murmured trying not to let his heartbreak show.

They set up camp a fair distance away from Haven and it was Cullen that insisted they search for their lost Herald. He along with Cassandra and two soldiers set off to look for her. Cullen didn’t have to ask, but Cassandra was torn to pieces; her face hardened though her eyes seemed to fill with unshed tears as they looked fruitlessly for Fabala. She was murmuring to herself softly, blaming herself for leaving Fabala behind.

The search party were all growing tired and it wouldn’t be long before they would be forced to turn back or risk the harsh elements. When nearly all hope was lost, a beacon in the night flickered a familiar shade of green. “There she is!” Cullen shouted his voice ringing out as the bruised and battered mage slumped in the snow, barely conscious as Cullen took her into his arms. “I’ve got you,” he whispered to her as she gripped at his pauldron weakly.

“It’s really cold, Cullen,” she mumbled and before he could reply she went limp in his arms, unconscious but alive.

 

* * *

 

When she finally came to she was greeted with the arguing of the advisors. She sank back into the makeshift cot with a sigh not noticing the large Qunari who sat at her side. “Hey, Boss,” he greeted nearly startling her, but she glanced over at him with a pained smile happy to see him alive and well.

“Bull,” she said. “How long have I been out?”

“Couple of hours,” he replied. “Probably should sleep a few more. You broke some ribs and twisted your ankle. We don’t know how you walked all the way with it like that.”

She winced. “Trust me, I’m wondering the same thing.”

They sat for moment in silence before Bull spoke up. “Boss,” he said softly. “Don’t ever do that to me again.” At her questioning glance he continued. “Don’t say you’ll be right behind me and then…” His breath seemed to catch in his throat. “I looked and you weren’t there.”

“Bull…”

“You scared the shit out of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for such positive feedback with this story, it really keeps me going!


	8. Inquisitor

_Inquisitor_

 

Skyhold was like nothing she’d ever imagined.

Work began almost instantly, no one resting for even a moment despite all that had happened. After all, roofs needed mending, walls needed to be plastered, and Thedas needed saving.

Fabala hardly had time to breathe as she was pulled every which way by her advisors discussing their next move against Corypheus. An assassination plot against Empress Celene had been discovered during her time in the Red Lyrium dosed future and that would need to be addressed at some point. From what she’s heard from Leliana’s scouts said that the Exalted Plains were in shambles with undead walking around like they owned the place so that had been added to her ever growing list.

It had been nearly a week after they’d begun to settle into Skyhold when Fabala’s injuries finally healed that Cassandra beckoned her into the courtyard and there she’d been declared Inquisitor.

“The Inquisition requires a leader, the one who has _already_ been leading it,” Cassandra had said with such conviction Fabala almost believed herself to be the right person for the job.

So she grabbed the sword laid out in Leliana’s hands trying to ignore the way her hands shook. And as Cullen declared her the Inquisitor to the crowd of people who’d gathered, she felt a pit grow in her stomach.

She walked around for the next couple of days nearly flinching whenever someone called out to her.

_“Inquisitor!”_

_“Good morning, Inquisitor!”_

_“Inquisitor, how are you faring today?”_

Still, she smiled and waved, forcing away the grimace she knew was making its way onto her face every time.

Her companions seemed endlessly amused by this discomfort. Vivienne in particular took great joy in watching Fabala squirm.

_“Inquisitor, darling, could you come here for a moment?”_

_“Ah, my dear Inquisitor, so good to see you.”_

Fabala wanted to pull her hair out and did her best to completely avoid Madame de Fer, well, more so than she already did.

Every so often her other companions would slip up and call her by her newly acquired title only to receive a sour look from the woman who would then proceed to give them the cold shoulder until she either needed something from them or they came groveling to her (which was usually the case with Dorian who could not stand it when the woman ignored him).

They had to hand it to her, though, she was taking her new title in stride, much better than when someone referred to her as the Herald of Andraste, if anything.

“Inquisitor, if you have a moment?” came Cullen’s timbre from behind her and it was as though with that simple question a string inside her snapped.

She spun around, eyes wild with a scowl on her face. “My name, Cullen!” she shouted at the man. “Use my name! By the Old Ones, you are my _friend_ , there is no need for you to call me _Inquisitor_ ,” she spat the title with disgust. As soon as the words slipped off her tongue she drew back into herself and one look at Cullen’s shocked face caused guilt to wash over her like a tidal wave. She was suddenly overcome with the need to leave the immediate area and did just that, though not before muttering a terse apology to the man who still stood there with his mouth agape.

After what seemed like an eternity of standing there in stunned silence, a smile formed on his face. “Friends,” he whispered with a tiny tingle in his belly. “She considers us friends.”

And then he left, heading back to his office with his head in the clouds completely forgetting what he needed to discuss with the woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Jennalee116 for all your kind comments on this story, you're the best :)


	9. Hawke

_ Hawke _

 

The newly appointed Inquisitor and her advisors stood in the abandoned hall of Skyhold, discussing the entire Corypheus debacle and what their next step should be if they could ever hope to defeat him and his giant Red Lyrium army.

“Hey, uh, Fabala,” Varric came striding into the hold, apprehension clear on his face. 

An eyebrow raised in the dwarf’s direction. “What did you do?” came her immediate response.

“I think I know someone who can help,” he explained.

“Varric, what did you  _ do _ ?” Fabala asked again.

“Everyone acting so inspirational jogged my memory and I sent a letter to an old friend. She’s crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he’s doing. She can help.”

“Varric, if this is who I think it is you better pray to whatever power may be that Cassandra doesn’t find out,” Fabala warned.

The dwarf grimaced. “We’ll meet you, privately, on the battlements,” he informed before taking his leave.

“Cassandra is going to kill him,” Leliana said once the dwarf was out of earshot.

* * *

 

Marian Hawke was exactly as Fabala had imagined her to be.  She stood tall on the battlement, a good half a foot taller than Fabala herself, her hair dark and grown out to her shoulders looking unkempt.

“Hawke,” Varric greeted.

A smile formed on the woman’s chapped lips at the appearance of her old friend, the skin around her bright blue eyes crinkling with the grin. “Varric!” A hand reached out to grab his outstretched one and Fabala was sure had she not been there a hug would’ve been involved. Hawke’s gaze turned to Fabala who took the chance to analyze the Champion’s face, taking note of the infamous red stripe drawn across Hawke’s nose. “You must be the Inquisitor.”

“Fabala is fine,” she assured.

“Nice castle you got here,” Hawke commented.

“Ah, you didn’t get one? I thought when one became a hero of the people they got a castle as a reward.” 

Hawke laughed at that. “No, who do I have to speak to in order for that to be arranged?”


	10. Cole

_Cole_

 

A peculiar problem came in the form of a boy named Cole, who if Fabala was being completely honest, she had forgotten about. He’d been there when Corypheus’ army had converged on Haven warning them just moments before.

She was only reminded of him as she passed by Solas and Cassandra who seemed to be having a conversation about him as he sat in the grass intently picking at the blades.

“It violates everything we know about the Fade,” Cassandra said.

“So it does,” Solas agreed.

Cassandra’s gaze turned to Fabala who sauntered down the stairs. “Inquisitor, I wondered if perhaps Cole was a mage given his abilities.”

“He can cause people to forget him or even fail to notice he’s here,” Solas explained.

Fabala quirked an eyebrow her eyes flittering over to Cole who seemed unbothered by the fact that her two companions were talking about him as though he wasn’t even there. “You don’t say,” she murmured.

“These are not abilities of a mage,” Solas explained. “It seems that Cole is a spirit.”

“A demon, more likely,” Cassandra added with a scowl on her face.

“If you prefer, although the truth maybe more complex,” Solas said.

Fabala glanced between the two. “I don’t care if he is a spirit, a demon, or the ghost of Wintersend’s past, he helped us at Haven. It is only because of his warnings that we were able to save so many people.”

“We cannot know the true motivation of a demon,” Cassandra argued.

“In fact, his nature may not be so easily defined,” Solas said cryptically.

Fabala rolled her eyes at Solas’ vagueness. “Get on with it, Solas,” she ordered.

Solas’ ears drew back in agitation with the woman as he was often wont to do. “Demons normally possess a body, as you know. Their true form is bizarre and monstrous.”

“But you claim Cole looks like a young man,” Cassandra said as though she couldn’t see what was so clearly sitting right in front of them and Fabala paused in her thinking, realizing that maybe she couldn’t see Cole like Fabala herself could. “Is it possession?”

“He hasn’t possessed anything,” Fabala confirmed.

“Yes,” Solas agreed. “Nothing and no one, yet he appears human. Cole is unique and more than that he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.”

Fabala pursed her lips as she honestly had no qualms about keeping Cole around no matter what it turned out he may be, she had no care for such things so long as he aided her in what she needed to accomplish and that was defeat Corypheus, however, she knew Cassandra wanted more of an explanation than that.

“I’ll speak with him,” Fabala stated, but when she turned to where he had been she found no one there. “Where is he?”

“If none of us remember him, he could be anywhere…” said Cassandra.

Out of the corner of her eye, Fabala spotted the gangly figure of their topic of conversation, he had appeared where the Inquisition had set up their healing area. Fabala approached him, listening as he muttered fragmented thoughts. To himself or to Fabala she didn’t know.

“I’m dying… I-I’m…” It’s only when she followed his gaze across the fire to a soldier who was now lying motionless on a makeshift bed made of hay did she realize what he was doing. “...dead.”

She was silent a moment turning her gaze to the young man before her with his pock marked face and scraggly hair hidden beneath a comically large hat. “You can hear their thoughts… their feelings?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “It’s loud when they are so near.”

“If it’s painful, why do you stay?”

“Because here is where I can help,” he said so plainly and Fabala did not need to hear anymore from him watching as he wandered across the camp to another soldier aiding them with whatever they needed.

“He stays,” Fabala told Solas and Cassandra who came up behind her.

To his benefit, Solas tried not to look too smug while Cassandra simply pressed her lips together clearly not happy with the Inquisitor’s decision, but accepting of it nonetheless. Though, Fabala was quite sure she’d be getting an earful from the Seeker when no one else was around.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Solas said once Cassandra walked away and Fabala earned a rare smile from the normally composed elf.

“Don’t get used to it,” Fabala warned a tinge of a smirk warming her face, the only indication of her joking manner.

“I would not dream of it.”


	11. Divine

_Divine_

Madame Vivienne de Fer was suspicious of the Inquisitor. As a supporter of the Circle of Magi, Vivienne believed the place of all mages was the Circle under the careful guard of the Templars. So upon learning that the person who was supposedly the very Herald of Andraste herself was an apostate of all things, it would’ve been an understatement to say Vivienne was displeased.

Fabala in turn did everything to avoid the enchanter. Preferring the company of the Tevinter mage which Vivienne was frequent to comment on. “Really darling, you’re already an apostate why sully your reputation even more by associating yourself with that filth.”

To which Fabala would snarl back: “ _You’re_ an apostate now too, if you’ve forgotten.”

At the advice of Josephine, Fabala remained civil with the infuriating woman. She left her behind on missions to avoid any sort of confrontation and was even gracious enough to go on missions that Vivienne requested of her.

“Honestly,” Fabala grumbled after one particular incident with Vivienne. She’d taken refuge in the tavern in an effort to suppress her imminent urge to hurl a blunt object at the woman. “What’s the point of her even being here?”

Bull looked over at his mug of ale at the woman across from him. While he himself had never had any problems with Madame de Fer, he knew the woman to be unpleasant especially when things weren’t going precisely how she wanted and unfortunately, it was Fabala who took most of the enchanter’s snide comments.

“She expects to be named the next Divine,” Bull informed nonchalantly as though it was common knowledge.

Fabala perked up at that. “She _what_?”

The Qunari gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I got some intel from the Ben Hassrath about Madame de Fer’s correspondence to Orlais. She’s been attempting to pull some strings within the Chantry. Her being a known supporter of the Circle isn’t hurting her chances.”

A deep scowl formed on Fabala’s face. “I would sooner gouge my own eyes out than let that vile woman become Divine,” she spat.

Bull grinned at the Inquisitor’s words. “Here I thought you’d be pleased having a mage elected Divine,” he said.

Fabala deadpanned. “You know I can’t stand her.”

He leaned forward in his seat, speaking in a hushed voice now. “Who would you put in that position then?” he asked. “If it were up to you.”

There was no hesitation in Fabala’s answer as though she’d thought about the question before. “Cassandra,” she said.

Bull raised an eyebrow in surprise. “The Seeker?”

Fabala pictured Cassandra’s stern face in her mind. She was a strong woman, both physically and mentally.

But there was a softness to her; one that Fabala witnessed in the aftermath of battle when Cassandra would immediately seek her out, laying a hand on the mage’s shoulder, her voice low and filled with concern asking if the mage was hurt.

She’d witnessed it again when she caught the Seeker reading Varric’s smutty novel and her face reddened to a scarlet at her guilty pleasure being discovered.

“ _Pretend you do not know this about me_ ,” Cassandra had said and walked away from the Inquisitor as quickly as possible leaving Fabala in the courtyard grinning like an idiot.

Despite her usual austere and militant personality, Cassandra was to the core, a moral and compassionate person. She did not have any ulterior motives, she simply wanted what was best for everyone involved and as Fabala had found out through her many late night conversations with the woman, she was more open to change than she let on.

Fabala knew that if Cassandra was made Divine there would be reforms throughout all of the governing bodies of Thedas, something that was sorely needed especially if they were to continue to advocate for the mages’ freedom.

“She’s good,” Fabala reasoned. “... and just. I can think of no one better. She would make a wonderful Divine.”

“Boss, you know your word bears a lot of weight,” Bull reminded. She pursed her lips at that as she was reminded again of the power she held as Inquisitor and she stared down at her glass of wine, perhaps a little too hard. “With all the good you’re doing for Thedas, it wouldn’t be too hard for you to sway the favor in any direction you wanted.”

Her eyes glanced up from her glass and she locked eyes with Bull an uneasy feeling swelling in her stomach.


	12. Dorian

_ Dorian _

Mother Giselle did not like Dorian. For all the Maker this and Maker that, the Holy woman was not very accepting of the mage. Whether it be due to him being from Tevinter or him being a mage, Fabala did not know, so when the clergy woman approached her with a letter from Dorian’s father requesting for Dorian to meet with a family retainer at Redcliffe, Fabala was suspicious.

She understood that having Dorian, a mage from Tevinter, so close to the Inquisitor probably didn’t sit well with most people within the Chantry so it was no surprise they’d be trying to get rid of him in any way possible. 

“We’ll let Dorian decide for himself,” Fabala had said when Mother Giselle instructed her to bring Dorian to Redcliffe without disclosing the reason. Mother Giselle did not seem pleased with the Inquisitor’s answer, nevertheless, she did not press the issue.

In the months that Dorian had joined up with the Inquisition, he’d never made any mention about his parents to Fabala and if Fabala knew anything about dysfunctional families (which she did), she knew there was a reason for him omitting any mention of familial connections back in Tevinter. She would not push him blindly into meeting with his family’s retainer.

Fabala wasted no time in seeking out Dorian who was in the library as per usual with his nose stuck in an old tome.

“Dorian,” she greeted, her heart warming when his face peeked out from behind the book and a smile lit up on his face at the sight of her. 

“My dear,” he said closing the heavy book without another thought. “What can I do for you?”   


Fabala held the letter out to him. “A letter was sent to Mother Giselle,” she explained. “From your father.” 

The smile on his face dropped in an instant. “My father?” he questioned.

Fabala nodded. “He sent a retainer to Redcliffe for you,” she said. “It’s all explained in the letter.” Dorian grasped the piece of parchment, eyes scanning the test with a scowl firmly placed on his face. “You don’t have to go,” she assured. “...Or if you want to, I can go with you.”

He looked up clearly torn. “You would come with me?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she said and laid a hand on her arm. “Dorian, I’ll be here for you, whatever you need.”

* * *

The ride back from Redcliffe had been tense and once they’d arrived back at Skyhold, they’d gone their separate ways, Fabala trying to give the Tevinter mage his space in order to allow him to process what had happened with his father.

The thought of what that man had did to Dorian made her stomach turn and her throat tighten. 

Her resolve to leave Dorian be weakened after only a few hours and she found herself standing in the library looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself as she stared at the man opposite of her. 

“Dorian…” she started.

“I’d prefer not to talk right now if that’s just as well to you,” he said briskly and Fabala knew not to get offended by his dismissal. He was hurting.

She stood there for a moment the sounds from the rookery echoed through the library. She didn’t make a move to say anything or leave. Dorian looked up from his book, which if he was honest, he hadn’t even been reading.  “Is there something else you ne— OOF!”

She surrounded the man in a bone crushing hug. “I’m sorry,” she murmured into his shoulder.

She heard him scoff, but he had wrapped his arms around her, abandoning his book to be dropped carelessly on the floor. “You have nothing to be sorry about you silly woman,” his voice muffled by her scarf.

“You deserve better,” she said with earnest. “You deserve  _ so _ much better.”

He heaved a heavy sigh and his grip on her tightened. “I’ve grown used to it over the years,” he admitted.

She pulled back from him, looking straight into her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she told him. “No matter what he or anyone else says, don’t you dare for even a second ever entertain the notion that you are somehow less because of who you love.”

He was quiet a moment though tears rushed to his eyes at her words and then he cupped his hands around her face, a smile firmly placed on his face despite the stream of tears running down it. “I am blessed to have you in my life,” he stated.

Fabala grinned. “It took you until now to realize that?”

A bark of laughter escaped from the man as he pulled her back into a hug. “No my dear, I think I realized that the moment you stepped into that Chantry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By far my favorite interactions in Inquisition are between the Inquisitor and Dorian. I hope you guys don't get sick of these character expositions. I really enjoy writing them so I hope you enjoy reading them.


	13. Fools

_Fools_

Dorian stared across the fire at the Qunari mercenary and the Inquisitor. Quite frankly, the two were shameless with their flirtations and Dorian was getting sick of the little dance they seemed caught up in. For the last few months they were all secret glances and lingering touches, it made him positively  _ queasy _ .

From what he’d heard from the Chargers, Bull was known for his carnal desires and he participated often in pleasures of the flesh, at least he did prior to joining up with the Inquisition.

Krem had made a joke to Dorian one night when they gathered at the tavern for a drink that he thought Bull might’ve taken an oath to the Chantry although Dorian was inclined to believe the Qunari’s interest in a certain mage might’ve had something to do with his sudden celibacy.

Fabala herself was none too vague about the fact she’d like to “climb the Iron Bull like a tree” to quote her verbatim. Dorian had nearly sprayed wine from his nose when she’d said that. 

They were both so completely oblivious that he couldn’t understand why neither of them made any attempts to consummate their feelings. Dorian watched as Fabala tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, a grin on her face as Bull whispered something that elicited an uncharacteristic giggle from the woman.

“Fools,” he muttered to himself with a roll of his eyes. “Lovesick fools.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one for today. I'll probably have another chapter up tomorrow!


	14. Alistair

_Alistair_

Fabala had to wonder what was with Ferelden and the absolute _shitholes_ it encapsulated. As if the Storm Coast and the Fallow Mire hadn’t been bad enough, Crestwood was churning out the undead like it was going out of style. She never thought she would miss the wide vastness of the Hinterlands yet she’d choose to fight a hundred bears at once over having to deal with the walking dead that were roaming Crestwood and the stench they brought with them.

They had come to Crestwood to meet with the Grey Warden acquaintance of Hawke, but Fabala soon found herself caught up with dealing the undead that seemed to be funneling from the lake. By the time her and her companions found themselves at the location Hawke had specified, nearly a week had passed since they arrived in Crestwood.

“You made it,” Hawke greeted the group. She motioned towards the door behind her which had the flag of a smuggler group Fabala was vaguely familiar with. If she remembered correctly they dealt in slaves.  “I just arrived myself. My Grey Warden contact should just be at the back of the cave.

Fabala nodded as she made her way into the Grey Warden’s hiding place. As she sauntered in with her usual swagger she was abruptly met with the sharp end of a sword. Her amber eyes steadily followed the length of the weapon to the owner; a sandy haired man with a strong nose and an even stronger jawline dressed in the familiar Grey Warden shade of blue.

When their eyes met the man faltered, his mouth hanging agape. “Is this how you treat your guests?” Fabala questioned.

“Y-You’re—” he stammered.

“It’s just us!” Hawke exclaimed when she entered and saw the Grey Warden with his sword to the Inquisitor’s throat. “I’ve brought the Inquisitor.”

“Inquisitor?” The man questioned his eyes trained on Fabala’s before he seemed to remember himself immediately sheathing his sword. “I apologize,” he said. “You just… you look like someone I once knew.”

Fabala quirked an eyebrow at the statement, but otherwise said nothing.

“I’m Alistair. It’s an honor to meet all of you,” he introduced with a smile now on his face. “I wish it were someplace nicer.”

The Inquisitor held a hand out to the man. “Fabala, it’s a pleasure.” He looked at her still with a bit of uncertainty in his eyes, but grasped her hand in his nonetheless giving it a firm shake. “You’re the same Grey Warden that fought with the Hero of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight, are you not?”

“I really need to change my name,” he joked.

As the tension in the air broke, they delved into the reason why the Inquisitor and her companions had made the journey to Crestwood; to discuss Corypheus and the Grey Wardens possible involvement with him.

Alistair informed them of the dire situation; all Grey Wardens had been called back to Orlais by Warden Commander Clarel who claimed to being making one final attempt to end all Blights once and for all, but Alistair believed something dubious was at play due to the fact that all of the Grey Wardens in Orlais began to hear the Calling all at once.

“I suppose they might be getting a little desperate considering they think they’re going to die,” Fabala concluded. “You said that all the Wardens are hearing the Calling, you as well?”

Alistair grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes. When I’m talking or fighting I can almost ignore it. But whenever things are quiet, I can hear it. It’s like a song you can’t get out of your head,” he explained.

Fabala frowned as she couldn’t imagine what these Grey Wardens were going through. “Have you any other information?” she asked.

“The Wardens are gathering here,” he indicated to the map laid out on a nearby table. “... in the Western Approach. It’s an old Tevinter ritual tower. I’m going to investigate, I could use some help.”

“And you’ll have it,” she assured earning a small, but sincere smile from the man.


	15. Cullen

_ Cullen _

Cullen felt shame well up in him when he told the Inquisitor how hard it was to quit taking lyrium— how painful the withdrawals were. And he was angry; angry at her for being so patient and accepting— angry at himself for giving less to the Inquisition, to  _ her _ , than he did the Chantry.

He felt the anger simmer to nothing as she took hold of his face in her hands forcing him to look at her. “Cullen,” she spoke softly. “This isn’t about me or the Inquisition. This is about you and what you want.” 

He eased into her touch finding his crinkled brow softening as he relished in the feel of her finger tips on his cheeks. “I don’t want this to control me,” he finally said.

“I support you,” she said firmly. “Whatever you do, you’ll have me to lean on through it.”

“That means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... somehow forgot to post this? Anyway, a short little update for today! I love writing these quick little moments.


	16. Doubt

_ Doubt _

Fabala sat with Varric, a glass of wine in her hand and a mug of ale in his. They had been sitting quietly together for a couple of hours now, the Inquisitor going over her reports for the week while Varric was working on the next chapter of Swords and Shields for Cassandra (who he was positive was the only person to actually read his trashy novel). 

It was probably about twenty minutes ago that Varric noticed Fabala no longer flipping through the pages as she normally did instead her eyes seemed glazed over as she stared down at her glass of wine with a frown set on her face.

“You okay, Trouble?” Varric asked when it seemed she would not break out of the trance-like state on her own.

The sound of his voice seemed to wake her from her own thoughts as her gold eyes locked with his, wide for a moment and then back to normal in the blink of an eye. She took to swirling her wine in the glass as she replied. “I’m fine.”

Varric’s brows furrowed. “I’m serious,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes met his and she contemplated his question. “I…” she trailed off before taking in a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this.”

He didn’t need for her to elaborate. He’d seen the same distraught look on a certain Hawke’s face nearly half a decade ago when she’d been dubbed the Champion of Kirkwall. Varric had no hopes of knowing the weight the title of Inquisitor held, but he was a gambling man and he’d bet Fabala’s shoulders were feeling a bit sore. 

“Hey, Fabala, listen,” she perked up slightly at his use of her actual name and not the ridiculous nickname he had taken to calling her. “Don’t ever doubt yourself. You’ve been put into a hell of a position and you’ve done more than anyone’s asked of you.”

She stilled, contemplating his words as well as the next words she would speak before opening her mouth. “I wake up every night in a panic,” she admitted. “What I saw at Redcliffe — it haunts me. Like a giant, looming,  _ red _ nightmare and I’m always afraid I’m one mistake away from letting that future come to fruition.”

Varric reached across the table and grasped her hands which had been fidgeting together as she spoke. “You’re not alone in this,” he told her forcing her eyes to meet his. “You don’t have to shoulder this burden all by yourself. We’re all here to help you in whatever way we can, none of us take our duties lightly, we know what’s on the line.”

Her stare was intense as though all of the horrors she’s seen were reflected back in them and yet when she looked at her companion, one who has been with her since the very beginning, her gaze softened just slightly and she squeezed the hand that was set on top of hers. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Anytime,” he smiled.


End file.
